Insanity
by LadyBastet92
Summary: I know what they're thinking. They think I'm crazy! But I'm not. No, I can't be crazy. But why can't they see him? Why only me?" A Ghost story. Modern day. One-shot. "Who are you waiting for?"


**(A/N: I took a very different writing approach when I made this in terms of content and style. I was experimenting with a different kind of writing style, but I don't like it too much. I probably won't use it again. But it was interesting to use, to say the least.**

**To avoid confusion, this is set in the modern day. I've been playing with the idea of reincarnation, and I thought I'd give it a shot here. And there aren't many fanfics focusing on Christine's insanity (she's the one being haunted, after all) instead of Erik's. Hopefully, the outcome isn't too confusing. I left the ending pretty much open. You can decide if this is ErikXChristine or not. **

**Thank you, please review, and enjoy.)**

_Why are you looking at me? _

I wait. He doesn't move. He doesn't say anything. I shiver. _Why won't you talk?_

Meg touches my shoulder. Who are you talking to? I turn my head. Don't you see him? That man, staring at me? I don't see anyone, Chris. He's right there, only a couple feet away! Chris, there's no one there. She frowns, her eyes deep with worry. Christine, we're alone.

That was the first day. The first day he came to me. But I put it off as and odd occurance, quickly push it out of my mind. I continue my everyday activities. I go to school. I go home. I do my homework. I sing. But I see him. More and more each day, I turn around to find him standing behind me, beside me. I ask a person nearby, Do you know that man? Do you see him? They shake their heads. They don't see anybody. I watch them exchange nervous glances. I know what they're thinking. They think I'm crazy!

But I'm not. No, I can't be crazy. Just a little tired. Stress catching up to me. Hallucinating. I try to ignore him. I walk past him without a glance, and try to self-rationalize. But everyday it gets worse. I can feel the invisible pressure mounting in my mind. He's here. He's there. He's everywhere I go. He won't leave me alone.

He never speaks, he never moves. There's no reason to believe he'll hurt me. But his presence is enough to send shivers down my spine. He is a giant, intimidating shadow, that's always decked in black; looming over me, like a monster prepared to kill. His face is completely hidden by a white mask. So many times I want to rip that mask from his face just to know what lies beneath it. But somehow, although I can never formulate an image in my mind-somehow, I think I already know. I shudder.

His eyes are the worst part. It is the only part of him that ever changes. Sometimes they are threatening, piercing with furry and undying hatred. They pass through me like a burning passion. They make me want to curl up in a fetal position and stay there. They are the true meaning of hell.

But other times they are soft. They gaze at me with mixed emotions. I try to pick them out. Fear? Frustration? Compassion? Love? The latter seems the most plausible one. But also the most mystifying one. He is always gazing at _me_. Why would he love me? I feel disturbed at the thought that a man such as him would feel affection for _me_…but it's not just love. If I looked deep enough and long enough (which terror usually keeps me from doing)…I can see sadness. A deep sorrow which I haven't seen in the likes of a person before. I see indescribable suffering, and it burrows deep into my heart.

_Why are you so sad? _I want to ask. _Who are you waiting for?_

But usually they just stare. A pair of bottomless pits. No emotion whatsoever. These eyes are the ones that overpower me with their silence. These eyes are the ones that make me feel sick with dread. These are the eyes that make you go insane.

Ignoring him is no longer an option. Confrontation is now necessary. I walk up to my room. I stare him in the face. And I talk. I ask who he is, what he wants. I ask why he follows me. I repeat this day after day in my empty apartment. He never responds. I start to yell. Scream. Cry. One day I am so consumed with rage that I punch him. But I don't touch him. I pound on the wall, weeping, screaming in desperation. Why are you doing this to me? Why? Why? _Why_?

He never leaves me. He's there even when I close my eyes. Sleep once could have been a retreat from this torment. But now my anguish only increases. The nightmares begin. I see myself in a theatre…dressed in a 19th century garb…I see the audience watching me…a man kissing me…Incoherent images flash before me in a jumbled disarray of a different time, a different person, a different life. And I see him. I run as fast as I can, panting, sweating, never looking back. I feel the cold touch of death around my wrist…

Every night I wake up screaming.

I'm going crazy. I _am_ crazy. I giggle at the thought. Me, Christine Daee, crazy! Me, straight A overachiever. Me, president of my school's student council. Me, top singer in Honor Choir Nationals. Who would have known? But I _am_ insane. I yell at an invisible figure in public. I break down and sob in the middle of class. I punch the air and scream at nobody. Yes. I'm crazy. I'll accept it. Is that what you want? Fine. Just please. Make him go away. _Make it all go away. _

Meg convinced me to go to the Halloween party. It will be fun, she promises. You need to be social again. Meg's mother agrees. I agree. I don't care. I let them dress me in an extravagant ball costume. Meg curls my hair, puts on my makeup. I don't speak. In the past few weeks, I've come to be as silent as my brooding follower. Meg doesn't give up. She drives me in her car, happily chatting to nobody. She turns off the gas, and hands me my mask. We walk into the house. The party begins.

I can feel paranoia setting in. So many people surround me and confine me in such a small area. Everyone is laughing. Everyone is moving. All I see are masks. Red mask, blue mask, long mask. There's one over there and over there, one right behind me, one right beside me. Everyone and everything are masks, masks, masks. He is everywhere.

I see him.

He's laughing at me.

Taunting me.

He knows where I am.

He's coming after me…_He's coming after me_…

I push my way through the crowd in a frenzy, desperately shoving people aside. I break free of their vicious hold. I run. I don't know where I'm going. I hear my name being called distantly in the wind. My heals break, my skirts tear. They don't slow me down. Faster, faster. Sweat, pant. Just keep running, just keep running…

Until I can't run anymore. My knees give way, as I sink miserably to the floor. I clench my fits. My head in burning. I resist the urge to scream. Images tear me apart until I can't tell fantasy from reality. The pain in unbearable. Make it stop, I whimper. Make it stop.

There he is. He stands before me and stares down at the miserable wrench at his feet. Have you enjoyed this? I want to ask. Did you enjoy watching your pretty toy unravel? I want to kill him. Oh, how I would love to watch him die. To watch his eyes cloud with the pain I've endured. To laugh at his own sadistic game.

_Dear God, what's happening to me?_

"Christine."

He speaks. For the first time, he speaks.

And I remember.

I remember singing at the Opera House in Paris… …I remember hearing my Angel of Music…I remember learning of his twisted mortality…I remember tearing off his mask…I remember his face…his distorted, hideous face…I remember trying to run away…I remember his wicked laugh…his fierce grip…his yellow dead skin…and his tears. His crystal tears that were just as human as mine. The tears I cried of pity…of acceptance…of love.

This was the ghost who stood in front of me. The ghost who was alive over a hundred years ago. The ghost who hunted me. The ghost who haunted me. The ghost who loved me.

The ghost who waited for me.

"_Erik."_

I never see the car. All I remember is backing away. The impact. The blood. The darkness.

Yes. I will always remember the darkness.


End file.
